


Thinking Bout You

by MSpataro210



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Be prepared for a lot of feels, Fisherman Castiel, Happy Ending, M/M, Married Life, They live in a nice house in Maine, Writer Dean Winchester, and it has a, but don't worry there's humor and sexy times peppered throughout so it's not completely upsetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSpataro210/pseuds/MSpataro210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel have been married for a decent amount of time, and they've been dating for longer.  They've spent so much time with each other, that even apart they can't stop their minds from focusing on the other.  When Dean's left alone during a storm, what memories filter in and out while he waits for his husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking Bout You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> I wrote this instead of studying for finals because:  
> a) I'm garbage  
> b) I was inspired by Ariana Grande's "Thinking Bout You" from her new album "Dangerous Woman" (out now, buy it while you can or at least listen to it while reading)  
> c) I thought it was going to be a lot shorter than it actually is!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, because I need to know I didn't waste perfect studying time!

            The rain pounds against the bay window. From where he’s sitting, Dean can see the wind batter poor, defenseless trees. Watches as the streets start to become streams as excess run-off starts to clog the public drainage. Laughs bitterly at the unfortunate people who tried and failed to make it home before the storm started. It’s a small chuckle, but robotic and foreign to his ears.

            He sits on the window seat, body curled on the plush cushions. He leans against a pillow, blanket pulled tight around him. His hands rest around a warm mug of cocoa with a splash of whiskey in it for confidence.

            He’s lost in his thoughts: hypnotized by the downpour. So much so, he almost drops the cup when his cellphone blares nearby.

            For a solid minute, Dean does nothing. He stares with wide eyes at the phone, “Ramble On” playing loud in the silent house. After the fifth ring it cuts off, only for it to start again seconds later.

            By the third time the song starts to play, Dean is able to shake himself out of his stupor. He gets up with a small groan, body protesting after spending too much time curled up in a ball. He places his drink down on a nearby table and takes careful steps towards the phone. Before it can stop, he picks the device up with shaking hands.

            “…Hello?”

            The voice of his editor, asking about his latest book, sends relief flooding through his system.

            “Winchester,” Crowley starts, “I hope the reason it took so long for you to pick up the damn phone was because you were busy finishing up your latest novel?”

            “Sorry, Crowley,” Dean replies, licking his lips, “I was distracted.”

            Dean hears the other man sigh over the line, cursing in his thick Scottish accent. He moves back to the window, picking the discarded mug back up with slightly more stable hands.

            “Dean, you do know your deadline is in a couple of weeks,” Crowley tells him, “I can’t get them to push it back, again.”

            “I’ll have it done by then, Crowley, so chill,” Dean rolls his eyes, taking a sip, “I’m over halfway done and I know how it’s gonna end. Just… I can’t write right now s’all.”

            “Don’t think because your first book was a publisher’s wet dream that you can sit back on your laurels,” Crowley lays into him, “You can’t survive forever on Pulitzer money or… whatever the bloody hell your husband does.”

            “ _Fishes_ ,” Dean says, throat tight. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Crowley, we’ve worked together for over a year on this, can’t you trust me that I’ll get it done?”

            The other end is silent for a long while, and Dean has half a thought the smaller man hung up on him. Before he hits the end button, however, Crowley releases another frustrated sigh.

            “Sorry,” Crowley says painfully, “I’m a bit stressed on my end. Not only are the publishers breathing down my neck about their… ‘Golden Boy’, but my darling _mother_ is visiting so she can ‘spend more time with her lovely son’. Or as I call it: ‘annoy me with book ideas’.”

            Dean offers an apologetic chuckle. “It’s okay, Crowley, I understand. I’ve met Rowena. I’ll call you when I finish.”

            “Better be tomorrow, Winchester.”

            Dean pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call. He’s about to put it back down when his eyes catch sight of the home picture. He stares at it, remembering when the picture was taken.

            _Dean stands on the steps of the Low Library. He’s trying his hardest to hold back the tears, ever since his name was read after the words: “And the award goes to…”_

_He can feel a hand slip into his; the familiar callouses finding their place next to his smooth skin. Hears the clink the rings make when they brush up against each other. He looks up into the bright blue eyes of his husband. He wears a smile that makes Dean offer one in return, as if it was he who won a prize and not Dean._

_“Cas,” Dean whispers, “Did that all just happen?”_

_“It did, Dean,” Cas nods, “Otherwise you must have done something else to have Becky Rosen cursing your name as she stomped her way towards the restroom.”_

_Dean snorts, head falling onto Cas’s shoulder. He lets it rest there, content. Until…_

_**Snap!**_

_Dean whips his head forward, startled by the photographer’s candid. Behind him, Fergus Crowley directs him._

_“Perfect!” he crows, “This will look lovely in all the papers. Do you mind giving your lover a kiss, he did just make you a lot of money!”_

_Cas rolls his eyes, but does turn in more towards Dean._

_“He’s lucky I love kissing you more than I hate him.”_

_Dean has no time to think before he’s swept into Cas’s arms. His husband’s plump lips capture his own, teeth nibbling, sucking on his bottom lip. To Dean, in this moment, the way he feels in Cas’s arms is better than any award in the world._

            A tear drops down onto the picture, hitting Cas’s face. Dean drops the phone this time, using the now free hand to wipe at his face.

            He goes for another sip of his drink, a distraction, only to find he’s emptied it. Another sigh, and another groan as his bones pop and crack from getting up.

            ‘ _I’m getting too old_ ,’ flits across his mind as he shuffles towards the kitchen, this time the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. The kettle still sits on the stove, waiting for Dean to fill it up once more.

            He goes through the motions, at this point the directions engraved in his grey matter. He fills the kettle, sets the oven to medium, and lets the metal rest there. He settles against the granite counter nearby, watching it.

            Even after all these years, the silver is still pristine as ever. Winchester’s are known to be sentimental as all hell; Dean’s car safely tucked away in the garage is a testament to that.

            It was a gift from his parents, something that wasn’t on the registry. ‘Something a touch more personal’ Mary told her eldest son when she handed the wrapped box over.

            _“So what’s with the visit?” Mary asks her eldest son, walking back into the kitchen, “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon. I remember when I went on my honeymoon-greatest two weeks of my life!”_

_“We couldn’t really spend that much time on vacation,” Dean smiles, “This time of year is too profitable for Cas to miss out. He promised to make it up to me in the winter. But that’s not why I came by…” He trails off, his hands fidgeting with the handles of the bag he came with._

_“Well, say something, Dean,” Mary prods, “Otherwise I might think the worse.”_

_“Your gift,” Dean blurts out, looking away, “It’s just-We… I… can’t accept it.”_

_“What?” Mary raises a brow, “Is it broken? Did it not fit with the rest of the silverware?”_

_“No, it’s not that… it’s just,” Dean sighs, sitting on a nearby stool. He puts the bag on the breakfast nook and uncovers the kettle. He holds it in his hands. “This thing is too nice, and… and you said it’s a family heirloom!”_

_“I’m pretty sure you’re family, Dean,” Mary leans on the other side of nook, “I have the stretch marks from your fat head to prove it.”_

_“No, mom,” Dean falters with a laugh, “I mean… you said this precious to your entire family. Something your mother gave to you on your wedding day.”_

_“Which she got from her mother on her wedding day, the same one my grandmother got from **her** mother on her wedding day,” Mary lists, “And the same one I gave to **you** on **your** wedding day.”_

_“What?”_

_“Look, Dean,” Mary takes his hands in hers, “this gift has been handed down from mother to daughter on their wedding day. It’s special, is what I’m saying. And since I have no daughter of my own… I figured it still counts if you’re marrying a man.”_

_“But-“_

_“I know how the rest of the family has been dealing with your relationship, Dean,” Mary cuts him off, “but your father and I both agreed that you two deserved something more than the latest gadget. We saw how Cas was eyeing it the first time you introduced him to us, and thought it would be perfect for our old son and our newest.”_

_Dean remembers the day. The way he couldn’t breathe the entire drive over to his childhood home. How he almost broke Cas’s hand with the death grip. Images of Facebook post after Facebook post of distant family members sharing their opinions about people like him that danced in his mind._

_But then he remembers how his parents greeted Cas with open arms. Heard stories of his youth he doesn’t even remember, stories of signs and truths. Remembers sharing heartfelt confessions and conversations over calming cups of tea from the very same kettle. In the end, his parents felt the same about Cas as Dean did himself._

_“We love you, Dean, and that’s what matters. Don’t ever forget that,” Mary cooes, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand, “We thought our gift was the perfect way of showing it. The fact it pissed off **my father** was just icing on the cake to us. But, if you don’t want it…”_

_“No take backs,” Dean laughs, eyes pooling with tears. Mary smiles, and moves forward to brush them away._

_“Come on,” she pulls away, “Help me make some pie. Surprise your husband.”_

            The sharp whistle pulls him out of the past. He curses, rushing forward. He twists the knob off and grabs the kettle to pour the hot water into the mug. He forgoes the chocolate powder, instead reaching for a tea bag to dunk into liquid. Dean, however, doesn’t forgo the whiskey.

            Blowing on the steaming mug, he makes his way back towards the living room. Instead of sitting by the window, a risky idea considering the harsh winds outside, he curls into a nearby chair.

            The tea burns down his throat in a good way. It does nothing to abate the cold that has been working its way through system. He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, suppressing the slightest of shivers.

            There’s a fire burning in the fireplace nearby. It’s been awhile since he’s added a log, and it’s starting to dwindle. He’d get up to stoke it a tad more, but Dean doesn’t think his body would like him if he got up once more in such a short amount of time.

            Staring at the fireplace reminds him of one night when it was especially roaring. But then again, it wasn’t the only thing filled to the brim with flames that evening.

            _“Dean, are you sure we should be doing this?”_

_“C’mon Cas, where’s your sense of adventure?” Dean chuckles, trailing kisses down his husband’s collarbone. He’s already tossed Cas’s shirt to the side, and plays with the edges of his own. He straddles Cas, leaning on him. It’s up to Cas to support the both of them, arms splayed behind him on the floor._

_“It’s just,” Cas groans, distractedly, “What if we get too close?”_

_“If we get close?” Dean whispers, “Babe, I’m hoping to not only get you close, but push you over the edge tonight.” He pulls at his shirt, tossing it over his head and onto Cas’s. He slides down his husband’s chest with licks and kisses, pausing for a moment to swirl his tongue around a nipple. Dean can feel Cas’s shiver. He continues, reaching Cas’s belt buckle. With swift fingers, Dean opens not only the belt, but Cas’s pants as well. He pulls it down, looking up into Cas’s eyes._

_The ocean of Cas’s eyes have been swallowed up by dark storm clouds of lust. Dean grins, pressing it down into the area above Cas’s crotch._

_He then moves further south, nuzzling the nest of hair surrounding Cas’s penis. It draws a purr from the man that quickly turns into a groan the second Dean trails a warm tongue up the member._

_“I think,” Dean starts, kissing the tip, “If we could do this all over,” another kiss, “I’d marry your dick instead,” one at the very base, “And after we exchanged our vows,” kiss, “I’d slip a nice **cock** ring onto it, to show my devotion to it.” With this, he stops talking. He uses his mouth for a more… important matter. He slips Cas’s penis past his lips and starts to suck, reducing his husband to nothing more than curses._

_He deep throats: pulling up slowly and trailing with his tongue. He scrapes the skin only lightly with his teeth. He can feel it pulsate, the hard muscle twitching inside his mouth._

_It tastes sweet. But that’s only the entrée._

_“You’ve been practicing,” Dean says after some time, “Usually you’re reaching for a cigarette at this point.”_

_“I’m on the patch, bastard,” Cas mutters, eyes screwed shut, “Stop talking.”_

_“That’s not very nice,” Dean smirks, “You know I don’t need my mouth to make you come.”_

_He emphasizes this with a quick twist of his wrist. It makes Cas sees stars, but Dean’s hand remains relatively dry. Dean pouts._

_“Do I need to try **harder**?”_

_“What if I try?”_

_Cas rolls them, and Dean blinks up at his grinning husband. Cas lays a heated kiss on Dean’s lips, swirling his tongue around to taste his precum. He pulls away, mimicking Dean as he makes his own way south._

_“You know I don’t like it when someone steals my act,” Dean chides from above._

_Cas looks up, sin clear in his eyes:_

_“Who says that’s where I was going to end up?”_

_The tongue lathing at his hole sends pleasure throughout his body. Dean’s toes curl and he arches his back in pleasure._

_“Shit, Cas,” Dean breathes, “What’s the-what’s the occasion?”_

_“I’m celebrating,” Cas answers._

_“Celebrating what?”_

_“You. Do I need a better reason?”_

_“Party away, babe.”_

_He can feel the words Cas mouths into his ass. Can imagine the words and prayers Cas spells out, about him. Can feel the heat coursing through his body as his husband completely eats him out, ass and soul._

_Dean, who had been half-hard already, is at full attention the more pressure Cas adds to his ass._

_“Cas,” Dean mutters, “I swear, either enter me or fuck off.”_

_“I thought you enjoyed the build-up?” Cas smirks from below._

_“That was before, when I was doing it. It’s not nice from the other side.”_

_“All you had to do was ask.”_

_Dean can feel as Cas enters him. The extra attention that he put on Dean’s ass loosened it up, enough that fingers were unnecessary. The lube that he must have applied while Dean wasn’t looking is cold. It hits him like the iceberg did the Titanic._

_“ **Fuck**.”_

_“My thoughts exactly.”_

_It doesn’t take long. The rhythmic pounding, of going in and out, creating and building a friction that erupts deep inside Dean. He scrabbles for surface, hands seizing, pulling at Cas’s hair. His legs are wrapped around Cas’s hips. He can’t think, each aborted thought stuttering on his lips._

_“C-Cas,” Dean attempts, “M’gonna… gonna…”_

_He does: all over Cas’s chest. The other man follows not long after, ejaculating fully into Dean’s body. He pulls out slowly, hissing. He crawls next to Dean, collapsing. A hand blindly searches for something to wipe each other down with, and Dean’s shirt is the closest thing Cas can find._

_He scrubs at his chest before laying it underneath Dean’s ass to collect the fallout._

_Dean turns to Cas, skin flushed. His freckles stand out like stars, and his green eyes have glazed over in pleasure. He giggles, pressing a chaste kiss to Cas’s nose._

_“I think I know why you would always want a smoke after doing it,” Dean starts, “That was intense. You’ve really improved!”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“Again? Give me a minute.”_

A loud bang from upstairs draws Dean’s attention from the now charred remains of the fire. He looks above him, as if he could see through the ceiling. The sound only continues.

            Putting down the cold drink, he leaves his cocoon to investigate. He tiptoes towards the stairs, looking up into the dark expanse. He takes each step carefully. When he reaches the top, he flicks on the light switch. The hallway brightens.

            He moves closer to where the sound is coming from. He opens the second door on the left carefully, eyes darting around for an intruder. Dean counts his blessings his parents signed him up for self-defense classes all those years ago.

            He sees no one. But what he does see has him breathing easier. The window across from the door has blown open, and it’s shutters pound on the walls. The rain pours in, soaking the furniture beneath.

            “Shit,” Dean rolls his eyes. He makes his way over. He pulls the tiny thing out of the way and steps onto the wet patch. It takes effort, but he wins the match of man vs. wild, closing the windows and _locking_ them this time. The only sacrifices in this fight were his socks, which he tugs off. They’re wet, and he bunches them up, pocketing them.

            He pads over to the other, more soaking wet item in the room. He checks all over, but finds that the only thing that absorbed water was the mattress pad. He’s glad, as it took forever to find the right wood to make the crib out of. Cas was about to chop down a redwood before they found the right mahogany.

            _“Dean, are you sure we can make a crib out of this?”_

_Dean looks up as he sees his husband holding two vary differing pieces of wood in his hand. He rolls his eyes to the skies, snorting at the buffoon he married._

_“Out of those two pieces, no,” Dean answers, “Just let me handle all this. We agreed when we got married I would handle all repairs and shop work while you dealt with all things invented past the 90’s.”_

_Cas chuckles and drops the wood pieces. He moves over to where Dean is sitting in the garage, kissing him on the head._

_“I forgot I married a handy man.”_

_“That better be a double entendre.”_

_“I’m offended that you would even ask me that!”_

_Dean can’t stop the laughter this time. He lets it go, eyes crinkling as he gasps for air. He sees his own grin mirrored in Cas’s. Dean holds a hand up, and Cas takes it, pulling Dean up to his full height. When Dean is fully upright, Cas doesn’t let go. Instead he continues pulling, bringing Dean right onto his lips. They kiss for a long time, interrupted only by a loud cough._

_They turn, blushing. Standing at the mouth of the garage is their caseworker, Benny Lafitte. He leans on the Impala, smirking._

_“Should I come back?” he chirps, “Or were you about to ask that same question to each other?”_

_Dean snorts again, head falling onto Cas’s shoulder._

_“Benny?” Cas smiles, “What are you doing here?”_

_“I got news, brother,” Benny moves further in, “Good and bad.”_

_They both freeze. Cas looks at Dean with fear bright in his eyes. Dean gulps._

_“What’s,” Dean rasps, “What’s the, uh, the bad news?”_

_“Nothing too bad, don’t you worry,” Benny starts, “it’s just we’ve run into some complications with getting the baby to you. The girl’s parents have put in a bid to keep him, but like I said it’s not that much of problem. We’ve got records to prove their unfit up the wazoo. Still, we had to push back the date you could pick him up back at least two months.”_

_Dean feels his body ease. He closes his eyes, thanking God that nothing seriously bad had happened to their kid. Dean knows how hard the adoption process has been on the both of them, and would not want any more problems. It took almost three years for the couple to even find a parent willing to give their child up to a same-sex couple. Cas had almost lost hope they’d ever have a child. Krissy had been a blessing though, and they’ve kept in great contact with her through the caseworker who helped pair them together. She’s in prison, and only wants the best for her son. Both her and Benny believe the best for him is in both Dean’s and Cas’s loving hands._

_“You said there was good news?”_

_“There was,” Benny smiles, “the baby’s due soon, and she finally decided on a name.”_

_“What’d she pick?” Dean perks up, “Anything from our suggestion list?”_

_“Close to it,” Benny answers, “She’s going with Dante Kristopher. She also gave you permission to call him Dan or Danny if you liked.”_

_“Definitely like the kid to pick a name like that,” Dean shakes his head._

_“I quite like that name,” Castiel says, “Better than just plain Daniel.”_

_“And now we have more time so we can personalize everything!” Dean pipes up._

_“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Benny starts to leave, “Unless there’s any homemade apple pie in your kitchen?”_

_Castiel rolls his eyes. He places a kiss to Dean’s temple before moving away. “We might have a slice for Andrea,” he jokes, “Come inside and we’ll have a peak.”_

_“Don’t mind if I do!”_

            Dean shakes his head, clearing his mind of the memory. He picks up the mattress and carries it over to the bathroom, dropping it in the tub to let it dry. He dries his hands on a nearby towel, carrying it with him as he leaves the room. He re-enters Dante’s room, dropping the towel on the puddle. He then places his foot on it, rubbing it across to sop up the mess.

            Deeming the floor dry enough, he picks the towel up and carries it to the end of the hall where a small pile of laundry sits.

            He tosses the towel into the pile, along with his socks.

            He’s about to leave when he hears the lightning. It thunders, as if the bolt struck right behind him. Dean jumps, rattled. He looks to his right, out the small window. It had grown even worse, the storm harsher. It’s as if the water is falling in sheets, with no space between one water droplet and the next.

            Another thunderclap, and a shiver rushes down his spine.

            _“I’ll only be gone a week, two tops.”_

_Dean pouts, arms resting on Cas’s shoulders._

_“Still…” Dean mutters, “you promised to be here. You know how close it is until he’s here.”_

_“I know,” Cas smiles, pecking at Dean’s lips, “Which is why I want to make this quick trip. I got a tip that there’s a large school of tuna making their way up the coast. There’s enough there that I wouldn’t have to be back on the waters for a long time.”_

_“And by long time?”_

_“Enough to really get to know our new son.”_

_Dean smiles, but he doesn’t feel it. He presses another kiss to Cas’s lips and steps out of his arms._

_“Just please, be safe.”_

_“Don’t worry bout this old fella, Winchester. We’ll watch out for him.”_

_Both men turn to stare at Claire Novak. She smirks, moving forward to wrap an arm around her captain. “Wouldn’t let a thing happen to him, knowing he’s expecting,” she continues, placing a hand over his stomach, “I mean it sure does show!”_

_Dean hides his laugh behind his fist. Cas is not impressed._

_“Claire…”_

_“Don’t test the waters there, kid,” Kevin calls from on deck, “with a new baby on the way you’re more likely to be forgotten!”_

_“No wonder she’s acting out,” Hannah adds in, “most children feel threatened when a new baby enters the family.”_

_“Don’t worry Claire,” Garth says, dropping a hand on Claire’s shoulders, “Just because they’re having another baby doesn’t mean they love you any less.”_

_The blonde is at a loss for words._

_“Whatever,” Claire finally manages, turning back towards the ship to hide her blush. She steps onto the boat to get away from the group. Samandriel, having missed the entire show while below deck, steps unknowingly into the path of the young adult._

_“Hey Claire, I need your help-“_

_“Buzz off.”_

_He watches her go back below deck. He turns to the assembled crowd, “What’s her problem?”_

_“She’s mad she got outsmarted by a couple of adults,” Cas chuckles._

_“Granted, is it bad that it took a team of adults to take down a nineteen year old?” Hannah asks._

_“I’m still calling it a victory,” Kevin tells them, “I’ve cut myself too many times on her sharp tongue.”_

_“We’ll apologize to her later over a couple of beers,” Cas tells his crew, “For now we need to get going or we’ll never reach the location in time!” This spurs the rest of the group into action, finishing the final touches to the vessel._

_**The Garrison** is a force to be reckoned with, and has a crew that works as hard as fifty men even if there are only six of them. Each member was handpicked by Cas himself, and had spent almost as much time on the sea as Cas did himself. Well, except for Claire. She’s still learning. Cas found her sleeping on his ship one night in August. Instead of calling Jody, the local sheriff, he offered her a place to stay for a bit and a job. She’s a fast learner, and now has her own apartment with a wonderful roommate named Alex._

_Cas turns back to Dean, the two sharing one final look._

_“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Cas tells him, grasping his hand. He squeezes it, tight._

_“I know,” Dean smiles softly. He leans in for one last kiss, a long one. He pulls away slow. He whispers, “I love you…”_

_“I love you, too.”_

            He shakes his head, stepping away from the window and finally leaving the room.

            He heads back down the stairs to clean up. Dean makes sure the fire is completely out in the fireplace, and dumps the remnants of his cup into the sink. He checks all the locks on the windows and doors, making sure there won’t be a repeat performance of upstairs. He collects the blanket, folding it up and placing it on the bay window seat.

            Outside is pitch black. Nothing can be seen, only heard.

            He says a quick prayer, hand pressed against the cool glass.

            He retreats upstairs, towards his own room across the hall from Dante’s.

            Dean unbuttons the plaid shirt, quickly tossing it to the ground. He picks up the remote, turning the television on to drown out certain thoughts and sounds.

            The first channel to pop up is the news, and Dean sees a reporter not getting paid enough.

            “I am here live, at the Marina, where we see the true brunt of Hurricane Singer taking its toll on these poor boats. It’s as if he wants to leave no ship afloat once the night is over. We will be covering the storm for as long as possible. I’m Ruby Summers, and we’ll be right back.”

            A commercial for dish soap plays afterwards. The only viewer in the house hears nothing. Instead, Dean falls back onto his bed, eyes wide in fear. He clutches at the remote, shaking it. It’s so bad the batteries rattle within. His other hand holds tight to the bed sheets. His breathing is shallow and erratic. He breaks out into a cold sweat.

            _“Dean, Dean calm down.”_

_Dean tries to regain control of his breathing, but finds it so hard to do so. Sam rubs his back, hand clasping at Dean’s to ground him. Remind him he’s not alone._

_“Sammy, what if-what if he-“_

_“Don’t say that,” Sam continues, “the storm is going to be bad but not that bad. Besides, Cas is one of the best fishermen out there. If anyone can out-navigate this thing it’s him.”_

_Dean tries to find strength in Sam’s words, but can’t find anything to really hold onto. He nods, trying to swallow. He gets nothing past the large lump in his throat._

_“We didn’t know,” Dean continues, “If we knew, he wouldn’t-I wouldn’t have let him go.”_

_“It came out of nowhere, Dean,” Sam says, “even the weatherman on Channel 8 was surprised. You know how he’s usually right about these things. It sprung up around New York yesterday, and it’s making its way up the coastline. They said it would be here by tomorrow afternoon.”_

_“Tomorrow?” Dean turns, unshed tears pooling in his eyes, “That’s… that’s not enough time.”_

_“I know,” Sam says, “I thought it would be better if you heard it from someone besides the news team.”_

_Dean scrapes the chair hard getting up. He makes jilted steps towards the cabinet. He grabs a glass and a bottle of scotch._

_He forgoes the glass to drink straight from the bottle._

_“Hey,” Sam stands, following him, “We can’t have you drunk **now**.”_

_“If not now, when?” Dean turns, angry, “When is the right time for me to be scared, huh? For me to **worry** whether or not my husband is going to make it back to his family? For me to plan what I’ll have to say to Benny when he asks where Dante’s other father is! When should I schedule all that shit in, huh?!?”_

_“Dean, it’s not going to happen like that-“_

_“How do you know?”_

_Dean stares into Sam’s eyes, challenging him. It’s a very long beat before the younger Winchester looks away from the elder._

_“You’re right,” Sam starts, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’ll happen. But I do know Cas, and so do you. He’s gonna make it through this.”_

_“But how can I just sit here and wait, Sam?” Dean cries, “ How can I just pretend everything’s gonna be okay when there’s the smallest of possibilities that the love of my life **won’t** be coming home!”_

_Sam says nothing. He moves in close, despite Dean’s weak protests. He grabs him, pulling him into a hug. Dean falls into it, releasing the tears that started to build the second Sam told him about the oncoming hurricane._

_“I don’t think I can live without him, Sammy,” Dean whimpers, “We’ve been together so long… I don’t think I can remember being alone. I don’t **want** to.”_

_“You don’t have to,” Sam coos, “What you have to do is have faith. Have faith in Cas.”_

_Dean spends the next few minutes crying into Sam’s shoulder._

            Dean blinks back the tears, freeing his hand from the sheet to wipe away at the ones that already started to fall. He swallows past the lump in his throat.

            He gets back up, undoing his belt buckle. He shucks his pants down towards his ankles, kicking them off.

            He puts the clothes off in a corner before slipping underneath the covers.

            He twists and he turns: no position comfortable. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The television continues to blare as white noise. Dean looks to his right, staring at the empty space next to him.

            Dean turns over on his side. He places a hand on the space of bed there, trying to remember the warm body that usually occupies it. He leans down to nuzzle the pillow, nose detailing the remnants of a smell that drives him crazy.

            It’s still not enough.

            He looks behind him at the closet door.

            He shifts, getting to his feet. Dean walks towards the closet, pulling the door open. The light provided by the television is dim, but he can still make out the clothing inside. It only takes him a minute before he catches sight of what he wants. He discards the plain white shirt he was wearing to join the pile of other clothes.

            Dean slips on an oversized sweater. The lettering is embroidered on, spelling out ‘WHAT A CATCH’. Dean smiles sadly to himself as he traces the words. He lifts the collar up to his nose and breathes in deep. Cas’s smell has ingrained itself into the fabric, having owned it for so long.

            It takes him back.

_“Charlie, what’s wrong?”_

_“I can’t move Dean.”_

_“We’re gonna be late!”_

_“Winchester, I seriously can’t move. I’m stuck!”_

_Dean turns back around to stare at his friend. She’s pouting, tugging behind her at her rainbow-colored tank top. She’s adorned with a flower crown, and her short-shorts start to ride up._

_“What do you mean you’re stuck?”_

_Dean, himself, is also in a tank. It’s purple. He has a blue baseball cap affixed to his head, and pink shorts on. The three colors are also painted on his cheeks in stripes._

_“It means something is holding me back and keeping me from moving forward!”_

_Dean rolls his eyes._

_“What’s holding you hostage?”_

_“…I think it’s a hook?”_

_Dean gapes at her. “Un-freakin’-believable.”_

_“Help me, Winchester!”_

_Dean sighs, but still goes to help his friend. “I told you we should have just gone straight there. But you said ‘Oh, the Parade doesn’t start for a while. I want to see the sights while we’re here! The bridge, the parks, the marina-‘”_

_“Stuff it, Winchester,” Charlie huffs, “You enjoyed yourself. Now hurry up!”_

_“I’m trying!” Dean crows back, “But I think it’s stuck or tangled or something-“_

_“Do you need any help?”_

_The two look up. In front of them is a young-ish looking fisherman in a weird sweatshirt and jeans, uncommon on a summer day. Dean blushes, caught off guard by how the man was able to trap the sea in his eyes._

_“Yes, please,” Charlie speaks instead, “I think I’m trapped on a hook. My friend is an idiot and can’t get it off me. Can you please help?”_

_“Be happy to,” the man smiles, tipping his head. He moves to where Dean is, standing opposite him. He looks down at Dean’s hands, then back up at Dean._

_“Uh, can you please move your hands?”_

_“What?” Dean asks, looking down. He looks back up into the smiling man’s face, “Oh, right. Sorry, I’ll let you do… yeah.” He sheepishly moves away. Charlie quirks a brow at her friend’s antics._

_“I think that should do it,” the man announces, stepping away. Charlie steps forward, and actually gets somewhere. She jumps, cheering. She turns hugging the man._

_“Thank you so much!” she gushes, “I was so scared we were going to miss the Parade!”_

_“Parade?” the man asks._

_“San Francisco Pride?” Charlie mentions, “We’ve been planning on coming here since Freshman Year when Dean and I met in college. We figured since we’re graduating next year might as well get it over with! Thank you so much!” She skips away, heading away from the two men._

_The fisherman watches as Charlie heads off. “She’s… odd.”_

_“That’s Charlie for ya,” Dean fills in._

_“Shouldn’t you be following her?” the man asks, “this seems very important to both of you.”_

_“Yeah,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, “Just-uh, thanks again…”_

_“Castiel,” the man holds his hand out, “Castiel Shurley.”_

_“Thanks, Cas,” Dean smiles, shaking his hand. He feels a warmth roll over him like a wave, and the smile falters a tad. The two stare at each other for a long beat._

_“Winchester!”_

_The two look to where Charlie calls from far away._

_“I should go,” Dean starts to leave, but turns back around. “Hey,” he says, “I’m gonna be in San Francisco for the week. Do you think we could… maybe meet up some time?”_

_Castiel blushes now. He looks off to the side, and for a second Dean thinks he might have made things awkward. But then Castiel looks back at him and Dean can see the answer in his eyes even before he says it._

_“I’d love to.”_

_“Great!” Dean says a little too loudly. He winces, “I mean, that’s-that’s great! Here’s my number.” He uncaps a pen with his teeth, writing his cell number down on Castiel’s tanned arm. He pockets the pen, but still holds the wrist. Dean looks up again into Castiel’s eyes._

_“I’ll text as soon as I’m able-“_

_“Castiel!”_

_The two turn to see a man, similar to Castiel in face but not in spirit. He looks worn, and stares at the two with aggravation._

_“That’s my Father, I… I need to get back to work. Have fun.”_

_“I will,” Dean smiles walking away. He dashes back to where Charlie was waiting, a knowing smirk affixed to her face._

_“What?” Dean asks._

_“Oh nothing,” she chirps, “Just know that I’ll be telling this story at your wedding after drinking myself under the table.”_

_“Please Charlie, I just met the guy,” Dean laughs. The words don’t stop him from craning his neck to look back. He makes out what he thinks to be Cas. He can’t make out much, but he can clearly see the blue eyes staring back into his._

_They haunt him all throughout the day._

            Dean reopens his eyes. He’s calmer, tired. He shuffles his way back towards the bed. He crawls back into bed, facing the empty side of the bed. Behind his eyes, however, it’s not empty. Instead it’s filled with the man he knows inside and out. He falls asleep staring into eyes as blue as the summer sea.

* * *

 

            When Dean wakes up, he wakes to silence. The television turned itself off sometime in the night. But outside, it sounds as if Mother Nature finally returned to her restful state.

            He slips the covers off himself, getting up. He stretches, popping bones that haven’t really moved in awhile. He scratches just above his crotch as he makes his way out the room. He plods down the stairs, the carpet absorbing the sound of his heavy steps.

            Once he’s on the ground floor, he moves towards the bay window. Fully awake, he looks out at the street.

            There are broken branches lying about, some debris that gone blown onto his lawn. He recognizes Missouri’s garbage cans, and realizes he’ll have to return them to her once he’s dressed.

            It’s a sight, but at least the storm was over.

            ‘ _If only Cas were here…_ ’

            “You’re not supposed to be up yet.”

            Dean gasps, whipping around. His eyes widen to take in the sight.

            His husband, still dressed head to toe in his fishing gear, stands drenched with a plate of pancakes in one hand and coffee in the other.

            “What?” Dean asks, the only words that were able to make it out of his mouth.

            “I wanted to surprise you,” Castiel puts the food down on a nearby table, moving closer to Dean, “I know you must have been worried-“

            Dean cuts him off with a heavy kiss, taking Cas’s tongue and wrestling it with his own. Cas is shocked for a second before he sinks into kiss. He holds Dean, tight and lovingly. Dean, for his part, could care less he’s getting wet. All he cares about is the man in front of him.

            “I was _terrified_ ,” Dean says once they break for air, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I was so worried.”

            “I understand completely,” Cas nods, “We got wind of the storm from the radio. We didn’t get as much as we would have liked but knew it was best to leave now and make it to shore than to stay and sink.”

            “What happened?” Dean asks.

            “We were about a mile or two out when the storm really hit. The waves were rough, and we almost lost our haul and our lives at points,” Cas answers, “I didn’t know if we would be able to make it. But I kept thinking of you, of what would happen if I didn’t… well, I couldn’t leave you. Not now. It’s what kept me going during the worst of it. By the time we made it into the eye of the storm, we docked in the harbor and ran like Hell.”

            Dean’s smiling; he’s crying. He kisses Cas again before stepping away. Cas looks down and quirks a brow at Dean’s attire.

            “I thought you hated that old thing?”

            Dean looks down at the sweater and starts to blush. He looks away and shoves his husband. “Shut up,” he says, “I was worried you wouldn’t make it back. Don’t make me regret having you here.”

            “You’d never do that,” Cas smiles, hugging Dean once more.

            It takes some gentle prodding, but Dean soon smiles as well. “You’re right, I wouldn’t,” he admits, “You’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you.”

            “I’m pretty sure I can live with that.”

            They kiss once more, in front of the bay window. If anyone were to look in, they could clearly see the profound love that exists between the two.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know that I didn't fuck this up while fucking my academic life up!  
> Comments and Kudos are better than high grades at this point!


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